Classic Poem

Thy pious duty Rome fulfil,
In prayer and silence greet the morn,
Ye wrangling courts, your clamour still,
To-day your orator was born;
The trash a pauper client lays
Before his lord for offering
May wait for Saturn's merry days,
Ye rich, your choicest treasure bring;
Proud huckster from Agrippa's street
Send him a cloak of Tyrian hue,
Gay reveller, a robe should greet
The counsel who defended you.
Oh wronged but now triumphant dame,
Bring gems to him, no glittering paste;
And, antiquary, he doth claim
Silver that Phidias' chisel chased;
From hind or hunter, kid or hare,
From fisher, treasure of the sea,
If each a fitting gift must bear,
What should the poet's offering be?